Amor Caecus Est
by Kates
Summary: One rainy December evening, a fairytale character sits down and pens a few of his thoughts, in a fit of frustration...


_**Hey there, campers. **_

_**It's me, back again and dropping in, quite unexpectedly, with a random little oneshot for you to scan over. This is something that has been lurking in my mind for a while, without being written out or shared with the general public. Nothing stellar...just some thoughts.**_

The Prince from Beauty and the Beast is finally speaking his mind.

Enjoy.

* * *

Dear Reader…

How do I begin this? I don't _really_ want to condescend to you by stating the obvious (that life is an ironic and capricious creature)…but, then again, I don't think I could find a simpler way of starting this. Call it a rant, call it an outpouring of thoughts—musing—call it whatever you will, but it's something that must be said.

Or rather, a great many things that must be said.

Fairy tales are something that—as far as I've learnt—people cherish at any age, whether they're willing to admit it or not. Most people, I think, in your current times, would rather dismiss tales of wonder and magic as the fodder of children and fools' minds. I pity you for that. I pity you more for the fact that you overlook something very important. In your fairy tales, when romance is involved, your interest is often rapt with the qualities of the heroine—and rightfully so.

To a point.

The heroines are important; it is they who most often save the day. But…the question is…whatever happened to people caring about the Hero? No, I'm sorry: I should specify. Whatever happened to people caring about The Handsome Prince?

_Does_ anyone care…?

I've spent a long time observing and analyzing what I've seen and heard, the things I've been told and the things I've experienced, and all evidence points to the contrary—no one really cares.

But why?

Is it The Handsome Prince's fault that he was born with his particular looks? Is it his fault that he was destined to fall instantly in love with the heroine? Is it so very impossible that he could love her the moment her saw her, not because of her beauty and grace, but because he knew from that first look, that she was good and kind, even lovelier inside than outside?

People have stopped believing in the power of destiny: of simply knowing, in one's deepest heart, who one's true love is from the first look. People want to believe that it is they themselves who alone control their destinies.

It is not so.

If I controlled my own destiny, I would have never met my Beauty—for I could not have dreamed up a love borne from the theft of a rose, and a maiden's selfless sacrifice. I am glad that I do not control my own destiny.

I am also glad that many writers do not control my destiny. Beauty is an incredible woman, the most indescribably wondrous goddess ever to take human shape...but I'm astonished that some of you writers out there really believe that she would rather accept her lover as an animal than a man. Our story, hers and mine, teaches that love makes everything beautiful: that happiness and devotion are forms of beauty that are manifested in everything else around us. Our story teaches that love does not limit itself to appearances. Forgive me if my sentiments are abrasive to you, but…really…I don't think anyone (aside from Beauty herself) ever stopped to ask me what _I_ wanted! I've seen so many people assume that a man cannot possess the same soul as a Beast, that the beauty of his soul somehow changes when he no longer has the appearance of a monster.

Is it so impossible that a man, too, can be beautiful on the outside and the inside?

Beauty did not fall in love with me because I was a monster with a good heart. She fell in love with me because I _had_ a heart. She didn't fall in love with the monster's looks any more than she is now in love with the prince's looks. Were I to be invisible, yet in possession of a soul and a heart and my love for her itself…she would love me still. I am me, no matter what shape I take. The man is the Beast, as the Beast was the man. And I will love her forever. She rescued me from the most awful fate long before she ever broke the spell—and she broke the spell long before I ever changed back into a man. She brought love back into my heart again.

What more can I say? It isn't the fault of us—the princes and kings and heroes in the stories—that we have whatever looks we have. And, if we are truly good men, we will not change in heart, soul, or mind, if we love our ladies. And I do love Beauty. She knows, and she will not swerve from our bond. She knows that it is the heart itself that matters, not looks: whether those looks are beastly or beautiful.

And now what, dear reader? I can only make my last plea, having said my piece.

Have mercy, and grant the Princes of your fairy tales a chance.

I didn't ask to be a man again, though I fairly _begged_ to be beastly, in my horrendous behavior, long ago. Being the beast was painful: physically as well as mentally. I came to forget that pain, because of Beauty. But I wanted to be a man for her, as well. I wanted to be as beautiful to her as she was to me. She saw that desire in me, and she loved me. Love makes everything beautiful, whether that beauty is asked for, or not.

I regret _nothing_.

Very sincerely yours,

_The Beast-Prince_


End file.
